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2013.10.14 - Tug of War
Spider-Man wasn't the only one trying to evade the 5-0 after the chance encounter with Satana in Metropolis. Weakened though he was, Shift managed to gather up his clothes that were left behind at the bus stop. Unfortunately, some cheap bastard managed to snatch up his cigarettes, sunglasses, and the keys to his bike. Fortunately, the criminal was not smart enough to locate the motorcycle before Shift had found it, hotwired it, and gotten the hell out of dodge before the cops showed up and made things difficult. The Ghanaian X-Man had found his way to a corner store to replenish the smokes. Four cigarettes later, he found a nice, quiet alleyway in which to get some sleep. Yes, sleep. Not more than a few years ago, this was normal for Kwabena, hunkering down in alleys. Long before he was an X-Man, he was a hoodrat, using his mutation for cheap robberies and a life of crime. So, he's certainly not above sleeping in an alley, and a few hours later, he's awakened, famished. Next stop? A shit-hole somewhere in Chinatown, as close to off-the-grid as one might get in Metropolis. He's still feeling rather ill, and before long, he's got a heaping plate of MSG that is being quickly, feverishly devoured. The sun has gone down, leaving him alone in this hole-in-the-wall, and for that he's quite grateful. To her absolute dismay, she had woken up in the hospital! The had strapped her hands down in the hopes that it would stop her. We're not even going to go into what a horrible fashion faux-pas those gowns are! The minute she was aware enough to mutter, she was gone. It took an hour, maybe, to gather a new set of clothes and make herself presentable. After that... To Chinatown. The one that turned into smoke and then resisted her had... fascinated her. So few struggle. As alone as Shift was... Now he's not. The demoness walks in, a pair of black leather low rise pants, red strap heels and a black handkerchief shirt with an open back and red bead work... This is what she chose to replace the outfit they had confiscated from her. Her eyes are now red irises and black pupils. They scan the area and land on Shift. Once she has his attention, she smirks. "You want more chicken kung pao?" asks the skinny little lady working the room all by herself. Shift looks up, mouth full of food, and nods his head vigorously. She turns away to begin barking an order back to the chef, when she's rudely interrupted by the Ghanaian. "Mro, mro! Meef. Meef mung mao." "I beg pardon?" she asks, turning back. Kwabena swallows his food. "Beef kung pao. Beef." "You have big appetite!" She reaches over and claps him on the shoulder. "We make big plate for you." Then she smirks. "And for your date." When the lady looks up with a smirk at Satana, Shift follows her eyes. It takes a few moments for him to register her, and when he does, he sits bolt upright, upending some fried rice all over his lap. Before he can make a move, however, some of that chicken kung pao goes right down the wrong pipe, and he begins to choke. "Oooh!" coos the restaurant waitress, and perches over Shift like a caretaker. "You eat kung pao too fast!" And then, she hauls back and begins striking him on the back, again and again, until a piece of half-chewed meat goes spewing out across the room. "All better!" she cries, then turns back to the kitchen, rushing that way while barking out the new order in Mandarin. Satana's eyes never leave the Shift's, even as she chuckles. An amused shake of her head is given before she saunters over towards him. Once beside the table, her hands are placed on the table. A move obviously made to keep them in his line of sight for his comfort. Her voice holds that natural allure when she speaks but at least she doesn't seem to be -trying- to seduce him. Yet. "Glad to see you're feeling better." Well, Kwabena isn't exactly one to back down either. Call it a character flaw. However, for the time being, it seems pretty clear that Satana isn't about to try hitting him with any more of that purple fire. He seems ready to stand, but decidedly stays right where he is, and neither do his eyes depart from those of his new visitor. "See how you feel aftah turning into plasma." His accent is thick, suggesting he did not grow up in the states, and his tone of voice is not exactly pleased to see her here, in this place. Tracking him down. Bad feeling about this. Reaching for a napkin, he makes to tidy up his hands, his face, and his lap. "Come to burn down Ming's Famous Food?" he quips, referencing the name of this little establishment, before returning his wary gaze Satana's way. A rich laugh comes from Satana. "Such a gentleman." Her head is shook and she pushes herself upright, keeping her hands where they can see them. "Take it easy." Tilting her head as she does causes that mane of long red hair to fall off to the side and releases the scent of Impala Lily (A really pretty flower that blooms in the winter in Africa) with the faintest undertone of brimstone. You'd have to be very very used to the scent or have heightened senses to pick up on the latter. After a moment, she speaks again. "I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just wanted to make sure you were recovering." The wary expression is slowly molded into a most peculiar smirk. It's that of one who absolutely does not trust people easily, especially not this one. And yet, he can't help but recall the way she'd struck him. The beauty. It's... not much different here. And yet think of that has him feeling conflicted, for the person he's begun to develop feelings for is already halfway across the globe, waiting for him to finish his work here and return to Genosha. It's the scent of Impala Lily that draws him back from those moments of perplexing stillness. "Well." Wrapping up the napkin and setting it aside, Shift leans forward somewhat, resting his forearms on the table and noting how pointed she is about keeping her hands visible. "Thanks." The word is filled with sarcasm, but regardless, he gestures across the table to the empty seat. He's already resisted her attacks once, so there's a touch of confidence welling up in him. Or is it curiosity? He waits to consider whether she'll join him. He doesn't reach out to ask her for a name, or a motive to explain what she did in Lower Metropolis. No, he's simply studying her, easily recognizing the scent from his home, which brings about even more questions. Settling in across from him, Satana folds her arms on the table and smiles. It's a rather relaxed pose. "You know... There's really no point in being rude. If memory serves, I tried not to cause you any harm." Her shoulders shrug. "Like I said... I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I can go if you'd like." When the woman sits down, Kwabena seems to relax even further. Perhaps it's just the smell, or perhaps it's something else. "I suppose I'm not always de warmest and fuzziest of peopah," he quips. He could have pointed out that she'd been the first to strike, but... semantics. They usually don't lead to the most productive of conversations, so he lets it slide. "So, dis is how you like to spend a Sunday aftahnoon?" he asks, appearing humored. "Descend on de littah ones and cause some chaos?" A mischievous expression forms in the African's mis-matched eyes. "Or is it something else? Peopah don't usually like it when people like us do... you know. Things like dat." Curious how he refers to them as being the same. He has no idea where her power comes from, but there is something of an event ground to be said. They certainly aren't mooks, neither of them. "Warm and fuzzy is obnoxious." Satana leans back in her seat, watching him. "By all means, don't quit eating on my account. I have every intention of feeding later, myself." He draws another of those rich and dark chuckles from her. "It was an unusual day for me. I was in a mood." She shrugs. And then she sighs. "Handsome... I'm nothing like you." Pause. Beat. "Unless you're a human-demon hybrid and are hiding it." -Feeding-. It sort of lines up, especially when she speaks of human-demon hybrids. It's at that precise moment when another odor, a familiar one, drifts past beneath the smell of kung pao and Impala Lily. It's a scent he was quite familiar with, given how many times Kurt had teleported him through his own unique dimension of hell. And there was that one time, in Genosha. A shiver draws down his spine, only to be shoved off when she refers to him as handsome. "No. Not a human-demon hybrid," he answers, before a trickle of mirth shows up in his eyes. "Dough, dere ah days." With the fresh arrival of his beef kung pao, he takes her up on the offer and digs in. He does have manners though, and after the first bite, he wipes his mouth and looks back across the table at Satana. "So, how does one become a human-demon hybid, miss...?" The last part is spoken as a question that expects an answer. A name, most likely. Satana chuckles softly. "I am led to believe everyone has such days." She smiles and it's rather friendly really. Her head tilts, amusement lighting in her eyes. "My father is a demon refered to as Satan. He is King of several hell rooms. My mother was human." She shrugs her shoulders. "I'll rule when my father takes over." She gives a small bow of her head. "Satana Hellstrom. And you would be...?" We've now reached the point in the conversation where Shift either defaults to 'crazy bitch' or 'run like hell'. That is to say, if Shift didn't have this nagging feeling in the back of his head, as if something was drawing him to her. Perhaps its the dirt of his past? The men he's killed, sometimes in cold blood? The way she's simply being so pleasant about all of this? "Kwabena Odame." The name is spoken with such ease it even surprises him. Then again, what harm could it do, her knowing his real name? Perhaps if she watches the news, that last name of 'Odame' will ring a bell. The name has, after all, been attached to a number of high profile narcotics-related murder scenes across the globe in recent weeks. Either way, he seems to gloss right over it, his eyes riveted to Satana. "So, you ah telling me dat de figure referred to as 'Satan' is actually real." He leans back then, frowning. "Don't want to be rude, but... it is a fantastic claim." Skeptic, much? Odame... A gleam of recognition lights in Satana's eyes. She smirks. "Popular..." She watches him. "It's part of what I am. I'm a succubus. We have a natural... draw to us. It makes getting our prey easier. Even when we aren't trying to seduce, it's there." For some reason, she's giving him the knowledge to help him fight it. "Not many have ever been able to resist me as you did earlier. A succubus doesn't often fail." And then she laughs and leans forward. "Would you like to meet my father, Mister Odame? I can take you to Hell and back without any harm coming to you." Popular. Oops! The explanation does make a bit of sense, even though Kwabena is not given to mysticism and such fantastic things. In spite of the fact that he's already been to hell, at least one dimension of it. In spite of... many things. "Well, I've got a strong heart," he offers. "You see enough bad things, you kind of get dere." He won't bore her with stories, but given the way he speaks, it's not arrogance. It's not showing off. It's simple, cold truth. When she offers to meet her father, however? "Hell no!" he nearly spits, leaning back again. Pun not intended (except perhaps by the writer). "I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm sure he's a chahming pahson and all. But, you know..." Beat. "Maybe some oddah time." There's a touch of mirth in what he says, as if he just might be convinced to take her up on it. But no, not today. There is something of curiosity though, and his brow pinches. He also leans forward, studying Satana's eyes, red as they are. "How would you protect me?" he asks. A laugh, oddly bright and beyond amused comes from Satana. "Charming? My father? Not unless he's seducing an unsuspecting woman." She shakes her head before she stretches. "It has nothing to do with your heart in that regard." And then there's his question. She smirks and leans forward again, just inches from his face. Her eyes meet his and she answers easily. "Because they are -my- Realms as well. No one there would dare disobey me." That remark gets a good, honest smirk from Kwabena, one he can lift his glass to. His glass, it would seem, is filled with coke. It reeks of bourbon. Guess the lady in the restaurant didn't have any complaints about that. However, before he can take a drink, she's right there in his face, inches away. What did we say about not one to back down? He's tempted to pull back. He's got someone in mind, even still, that he's thinking about. But the scent is almost impossible to resist. It plays at him, -works- at him, and the brimstone even stops smelling so terrible. So, he doesn't back down. He doesn't move forward. He simply lingers there, the smirk barely faltering from his lips even though it's become iced over in his mis-matched eyes. "You speak confidently," he allows, letting the words breath for a moment before permitting more dialogue than he's given her thus far. "I could tell you of every dark thing I've seen. You... would probably scoff at it. Tell me I couldn't imagine what's really out dere. Might even be entahtained, willing to follow me around to see what oddah troubah I might get into." His eyes harden further still, and yet deep within there is something daring in them. His strength is returning, after all. "But I know your type, Satana Hellstrom. I've danced with you before, and you don't even realize, do you? You don't even smell it on my soul. You only smell what's in my cola." Kwabena's lips curl into a wry grin, and he's still not backing down. Satana smiles and when she speaks, that warm and sweet, alluring breath likely washes over him. "You've never met anyone like me before, I promise you that." She reaches out to touch her fingertips to his cheek. "Lying is unbecoming of you. And you'd be surprised what I know." She watches his eyes, his body movements... Every little twitch. "And you should never assume anything about me. Chances are, you're dead wrong." It's a poison, and it's one Kwabena cannot resist. To him, this was all a game of chance. He had his suspicions about why Satana has taken an interest in him, and felt it worth the gamble to see how it plays out. He's a man who values information, after all. That being said? In that moment, when she touches him, it seems he's failed to resist. His eyes lid, his skin warms, and his body seems to tense up just so. Regardless, his smirk turns into more of a grin, and his response comes as a whisper. "Who said anything about assumptions?" Reaching up, Kwabena makes to take the woman's hand in his own. For the moment, he's simply blinded by the venom that's washing over him. Whether he'll find the clarity to resist or break free remains unknown. Lest she resist, he'll curl his hand around hers and draw it away from his face, only to lower it long enough to let his hand turn into black smoke. The tendrils will curl about her fingers, reminding her that he has his own unique power. "Then let me show you some few things," he requests, still locked to the woman's red eyes as a dark undertone is cast over them. "If we're going to play dis game, I'll show you who I am." In her defense, she's using that breath effect on purpose. When she realizes it's happening, she pulls back. "My apologies." She attempts to pull her hand back but is unsuccessful. A brow arches and the dark part of her can't help but smirk at the tone of his voice. "By all means, handsome..." The apology seems to strike Kwabena as odd. Out of place. He soon forgets it when she takes him up on the offer, and after tossing a pair of twenties on the table for payment, he's rising. Without further adieu, he's walking out of the spot and into the Chinatown night, which is all hustle and bustle. His bike is not far, and he hops aboard, scooting up to give Satana some room. "Hop on," he all but demands. "Where we're going, you'll spook de locals if we come in flying." He looks over his shoulder to see if she'll comply, brow arced in his unique, daring way. Satana grins and rises as he does. Without a word, she follows him out. And then there's the bike. The demoness all but purrs her approval. "Gladly," is murmured as she straddles the bike. "Mm. Nice." Leaning in, her arms slide around him. "Show me." It does cross his mind that he's being distracted from his mission. The real reason he was back in the states. Regardless, he reaches down with his hand, hotwiring the bike again before revving it twice. The stand is kicked back, and the bike peels out into the cramped street, zipping between two double-parked cars before spinning off toward one of the major avenues. It doesn't take long for them to reach one of the few places in Lower Metropolis that haven't been shined, sparkled, and polished by the hand of Father Gentrification. There are fewer street lights, and those business that are open at this our consist primarily of bars, liquor stores, adult bookstores, and 24-hour check cashers. As the duo drive down the main thoroughfare, Kwabena gets a few scrutinizing looks, and Satana receives any number of catcalls. However, this is not yet their final destination. Seems Kwabena has begun eyeing the side streets as they go, as if he's looking for something in particular. Have you ever seen someone play tug-o-war...Within themselves? The demoness leans forward, nails of her hands teasing lightly over his abdomen and chest. She exhales slightly, making sure it washes over him. There's that 'purr' to her voice again. "Care to tell me where we're going, handsome?" Not that she seems to be bothered by the part of town they're in. And just like that, like a puppet, Shift is drawn back in. With the bike's engine idling as they roll down the street, he peers back over his shoulder, eyeing the woman with half-lidded eyes. Oh, she'd worked him over on the ride there, but it wasn't unlike the life he'd lived not so long ago. "You'll see," he quips, before apparently spotting the place they are headed. Down a side street they go, and this is apparently what he intended to show her. The place is absolutely trashed. There are people of every age, shape, size and color hanging about, most of them high on hard drugs. Music comes pumping out of two doors on opposite sides of the street; the one closer apparently is blasting hip hop music, the one down the road slow dance music around 120 BPM. Each of them clubs. Each of them, most likely not exactly legitimate businesses licensed with the New York Secretary of State. Pulling the bike to a stop, he drops the kickstand and leans back over his shoulder, giving Satana a sidelong glance. "Dis is where Kid Sniffy was murdered about a year and a half ago," he explains. "Dey call it Sniffy's Alley. Everything dat goes on here? He had his hands in, trough and trough." The demoness smiles that seductive smile up at Shift and lightly runs her hand along him again as he drives. Her eyes are always moving and taking in the area, the kind of people, et ceter. When they stop, she presses herself a little closer to him and looks up at him once more when he begins to speak. Her brow arches as she moves to prop her chin up lightly on his shoulder. "Mm. Alright." Obviously, she's failing to see the signifigance. "On Earth?" explains Kwabena. "This is about as bad as it gets, right here." He drops the engine, then turns to see if the demoness will choose to depart or not. "Here, you grow up poor, right in de middah of de world's wealth. It's dere, staring at you, but you can't have it. It's withheld from you. By de system, by de ones with powah. It constantly mocks you, every time you put a needle in your arm. Every time you beat a man for his money. Every time you put a slug in a rival dealah's face." A dark grin spreads across the African's face. "Back home, where I'm from? Being poor is natural. You grow your plants, hunt for your food, build your city, and you live. It's normal. Nobody is waving de gold flag just above de reach of your arms. All of dose dark places, where people are brutalized and tortured? Dey don't see a way out. But here?" He gestures with his head, where the Chrysler Building can be seen rising above the ghetto. "Dey see a way out, and dey'll nevah get dere." Casting his eyes upon Satana, he wonders if she'll understand what he means. She may not, which is fair. He grew up here... she grew up somewhere else. But, he offered to show her what he's about. Perhaps she'll be able to piece it together, but if not? He's willing to demonstrate. There's that tug-o-war going on in her again. Visible in her eyes and in the way her fingers clench and release his shirt where they hold on. A brow arches at him. She may, or may not, get it but... Yes, she's going to make him spell it all out. "And your point is?" "Dis place is ugly, but it's where I'm from." He turns back around, looking at the rest of them. Oh, it's not that he isn't absolutely appreciating her physical gestures, but the whole nature of this encounter is having him feel troubled. The grasp of her scent is slipping, but it hasn't lost its hold yet. "I am going to hazahd a guess, dough... dat it's still nothing like where you're from." He turns to glance back her way, even twisting his body around just enough to look at her more fully. "You can take me dere, even guarantee my safety, but it's a place I'll nevah belong in." Satana's eyes slip shut and she turns her head away. A growl erupts from her. Suddenly, she dismounts the bike and takes several steps backwards. "Leave." That simple statement seems to be a struggle for her. Several heartbeats later, her eyes open and while her nails are digging into her palms enough that they're dripping blood, there's a gentleness in her eyes. "You never would have been left there. And this...This is worse because as you said... They know what's out there... Now, please... You have to go..." Kwabena watches as she changes, noting the growl, the dismount, the struggle. He is surprised but takes it in stride, having been so suddenly released from the effects of the toxin. He's flooded with the reminder of his responsibility. His morality. His honor. Things he's fought so hard to regain, and has nearly come close to losing in one evening. Regardless, there had been some shred of lucidity when he took Satana on this little trip, and now, the gamble seems to be paying off. He's learning something about her, something he couldn't have seen in Lower Metropolis or the Chinese restaurant. "No." The answer comes simply but defiantly. "Do what you need to do, Satana." He's urging her, actually urging her, as if he intends to stay and watch. Satana's eyes lock on his. "You can't be there when I feed..." Her jaw clenches and she takes another step back. "How long do you think you could resist me? I don't want to hurt you... Don't you see that? Please... Please go..." The wind blows and the demoness licks her lips slowly, eyes starting to glow as they look around. "Mmm...." She used far too much energy lately and it's been too long since her last feeding. The predator in her is pushing to the forefront, quickly winning the battle. Can't, or shouldn't? Wondering if the term is subjective, Kwabena remains still. His eyes fail to yield, which suggests that perhaps he wasn't providing full disclosure about just what he's seen in his young life. Perhaps he has seen things darker than this alley. "You won't hurt me," he whispers, as if making a promise. A promise that she'll either fail to try, or fail to succeed. When she diverts her attention and seems to visibly grow hungry, Kwabena finally takes a couple steps back of his own. He turns his eyes upon the alley, taking stock of those present. Sad people, addicted people, people who might just be better off dead than alive. If she does in fact have to 'feed' to survive, perhaps it's best that it's done here. Perhaps Shift has done her a favor, and given her a smorgasbord with a touch less guilt. Kwabena provides no response. He simply backs into a more shadowy part of the alley and waits. He should have left. The problem is, she's very much a hunter and the only thing that resembles real prey is... Shift. Where's the fun in prey that doesn't run... doesn't resist... She stalks towards him, licking her lips. That allure of her species comes out full force. That seductive smirk, the way her hips sway back and forth as she walks over to him, that lilted 'purr' when she speaks. "Why do you hide in the shadows, handsome?" A shadow crosses Kwabena's face, much like that which partly conceals him. Paired with it is a sense of betrayal, but that soon fades to understanding. He could run. She's certainly capable of surviving the ghetto. However, he's in this to understand her better. Perhaps to help her, if such a delusional thought were possible. A crackling sound joins the purring of Satana's voice. Shift's body is changing, its molecules transforming their matter state until something more solid than flesh. Most of it goes unseen beneath his clothes, but upon his face, the already dark skin begins to crack and darken, changing color into something that resembles petrification. "Have you evah fought it?" he asks, not truly understanding what it is, but having a strong sense of how it drives her. "Tried to defeat it? Have you evah thought dat it may not destroy you? Dat dere may be anodah way?" No, he's not backing down or running away. Not just yet. The demoness continues forward, getting as close to him as she can. "I have to feed. I'll die if I don't. My kind relies on devouring the souls of others to sustain us. It isn't painful. Quite the opposite. It's a pleasure unlike anything you've ever known." She smiles, reaching out to touch him. "Let me show you how good I could make you feel." Surprise finally registers on Kwabena's face, but he'll allow her one small luxury, even if it's not the one she wants. "I believe you," he answers, simply enough at that. He turns to glance at her arm, then looks back at Satana with a particularly coy smirk. "But not today." With a snapping sound and a sudden displacement of air, Kwabena becomes smoke. The cloud collapses to the ground alongside the clothes he was wearing, then vaults itself into the air and up the side of the building. He's moving fast, drawing the air through his gaseous form as quickly as he can to gain altitude. He expects her to pursue, if she has the strength to do it, but if not? Plenty of junkies upon which to feed. Satana watches him shift (no pun intended!) and move out of her range. Believe it or not, she doesn't give chase. Instead, there's a softly muttered, "Thank you," before she darts into the alley. There's no scream of pain. No shriek of fear. And all in all, it's done in a matter of minutes. A kiss is delivered and with it, a great deal of pleasure, as the soul is drawn up and the body shrivels up. A green butterfly perches on the lips of her victim which is immediately inhaled. The body is dropped and the demoness hits her knees, tembling and shuddering. From the rooftop of a building, Kwabena sits perched, concealed against the evening sky by the darkness of his skin and uniform alike. His face is drawn into a look of deep consternation as he watches what takes place, but he says not a word... he's barely even breathing. How close had he come to suffering the same fate? Still, he waits, watching as the demoness hits her knees and restores herself. It takes Satana a few moments to compose herself. When she does and finally manages to push to her feet, she draws herself upright. Walking back out of the alley, she looks more in control. Her eyes catch sight of the bike and she frowns slightly. Walking over, her finger tips are run along it before she shakes her head. "It can't stay here," is muttered to herself along with something about hunting him down again. Of course, seconds later her lips twitch. "At least he got outta dodge." And then she's mounting the bike. With a smirk, Shift touches his finger to his lips, making the gesture of shushing without uttering a sound. The bike has GPS, and something tells him she's not the technical type. He'll track it either way, but for now, he'll let her have some fun. Once the bike and its new rider have left, he leaps from atop the building, falling swiftly until he strikes the ground, where his body instinctively turns to a black cloud. It reforms hastily, flesh and bone pivoting to watch her silhouette as it leaves. "See you 'round, Hellstrom." Category:Log